My Christmas with a Mobster

So while you celebrate Christmas with your friends and families, I thought I would re-share one of my more infamous holiday stories… when I toasted a gangster on Christmas Eve!

It was 1999 and I was in Corfu, Greece. In a few days, I was going to meet my friend in Athens to party below the Acropolis for the 2000 Millennium.

It seemed like an inspired idea. I had partied on the island of Corfu before and had an outstanding time.

But that was during the summer. During the winter, despite the mild temperatures, the Greeks wore bulky coats and questioned my sanity for visiting them in the winter. Every night inside the restaurants and bars, I would get asked, “What are you doing here? You come in the summer. Not now.”

On Christmas Eve, I was staying at the notorious Pink Palace outside town. During the summer it was overrun with hundreds of young tourists from all over the world. On December 24, 1999, there were only four guests (along with four full-time staff members).

A traditional dinner on Christmas Day was planned with the owner’s extended family while Boxing Day promised invitations to a traditional Greek wedding reception inside the Pink Palace’s legendary nightclub.

But Christmas Eve inside the Palace only promised peace and quiet. This wasn’t good when you’re on a party trip to ring in the new Millennium.

So I hitchhiked and then walked into Corfu Town. Bars and pool halls offered sufficient afternoon entertainment until the magic of Christmas took over the town squares in the evening. Families and friends gathered to wish each other Christmas greetings; choirs floated down the streets singing carols. I quietly watched and listened and soon became soothed by all the small town cheer.

Later in the night, I found myself enjoying the Christmas spirit in the best bar in town. This eventually led to a 2am decision. It was much too late to return to the Pink Palace. So I walked towards the port and secured a convenient hotel. This lead to a 2:30am decision: one more beer to toast Christmas!

I soon found a small restaurant on the pier. I ordered a beer at the bar and lazily wrote in my journal.

A few people were quietly scattered around the room—except for one table which was rather lively and boisterous where a well-dressed Italian was entertaining a motley crew of Italians and Greeks.

He soon noticed me and shouted, “Where you from?!”

“Canada.”

“I’m from Genoa!” 

And he bought me a beer. And then another. Despite my protests, he proceeded to order me a fresh new beer every ten minutes.

I couldn’t drink that fast so I asked the bartender to keep the pints hidden underneath the bar. I had no intention of actually drinking them, but if the bartender wanted to keep pouring them, that was his problem.

The man from Genoa didn’t talk to me, but he did point in my direction from time to time and yelled out “Canada!” There were five beers waiting for me under the bar before he finally noticed the bartender’s deception. He then scolded the bartender who immediately placed all the drinks in front of me.

One of the Greeks then walked over to me and sat down. With my few words of Greek and his few words of English, we could surprisingly converse—as long as we spoke slowly and gestured appropriately. He explained that the man from Genoa was “from the family.” A few more gestures later, it was clear that he was actually a mobster!

“I’m from Genoa!”

I thanked him for the beer and drank faster. And waited it out. There was no way I was going to leave that bar first and offend the man. Not unless I drank all those beers.

At 4:30am, the man from Genoa got up to leave.

“Canada!”

I profusely thanked him for the beer. In English. In Greek. And in Italian.

He left with his party with a wave of his hand. I stopped drinking and waited five more minutes. I then paid for my single order of beer and got the hell out of there.

My only regret was missing the next day’s Christmas dinner at the Pink Palace. Nobody told me that it had started at 2pm. When I wandered in at 5pm, it was all over and everyone had gone.

So Christmas Night inside the Palace proved to be nothing but peace and quiet. Oh well. At least I didn’t have to dodge beers from Genoa mobsters!
 
For more memorable travel stories, check out:

https://www.johnmeyerbooks.com/solo-dining/

https://www.johnmeyerbooks.com/best-story/

https://www.johnmeyerbooks.com/travelling-alone-in-toronto/